


Dirty Fingers

by Caede



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Ian, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caede/pseuds/Caede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian's been in the hospital for an hour and Mickey's not taking it too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Fingers

Mickey raked his dirty fingers through his greasy hair, his jaw clenched as he stared at the doorway. He was half expecting Ian to walk right in, stripping off his shirt and shoving Mickey against the bed. But he knew that wouldn't happen, at least not for a while. He didn't know how this shit worked out, the nut house shit. But the way the Gallaghers talked about it made it seem like he'd be out in no time. He had just gotten Ian back, not the old Ian, but still an Ian he loved. His dirty hands slid from his hair to his face, rubbing at it hard. He wanted to cry, scream, throw something. His chest hurt, but at the same time, he was numb. He removed his hands, but he didn't open his eyes, focusing on listening to the soft murmurs of the Gallagher kids. He couldn't focus on any words, but by how quiet they were being, he knew they were either talking about him or Ian, hell, maybe him and Ian. "Fuckin' Gallaghers," he muttered, his mind flashing back to just an hour ago. The words "I love you" had been on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. Not as he was being taken away from him. Ian knew. By the way he had tried to help him. By his attempt of getting him to the hospital. By the two hundred phone calls he left on his phone. How he hugged the other.

He was yanked from his thoughts when something-someone shook his shoulder, jerking away from the touch and grabbing the skinny wrist of the kid. Carl? Yeah, it was Carl. "What?" he snapped, though it didn't have the edge it usually had in it. It was tired, almost.

"You wanna beer?" the kid asked in a tired, scratchy voice. Mickey tried to smile, just a little bit as he moved his chin up. He hadn't noticed the bottle in the kid's hand. He grabbed it slowly and he let go of his wrist, taking a swing from the bottle almost immediately.

"He gonna be okay?" Mickey asked the kid, looking up at him, but not really meeting his gaze.

"Yeah," Carl said immediately before pausing and then shrugging. "Better than Monica. We got to him before he could do anything too crazy."

"He took my fuckin' kid, how's that not crazy?" Mickey snapped before reaching up with his free hand to rub his face. Carl just shrugged and left the room. "Fuck," he mumbled, taking another gulp of the beer. He had to go home. Make sure Svetlana didn't call the fucking cops. He didn't want to move, though. He couldn't move. Mickey turned his head slowly, looking over his shoulder. 

He imagined Ian, laying there with his stupid ass eyeliner smudging around his face, the sheet just barely covering his ass. Mickey tightened his jaw before finishing off the beer, throwing it at the wall. He heard feet rush up to see if he was okay, but he ignored the hovering bodies, burying his head in his hands and finally letting out a short sob.


End file.
